


Steady in Their Orbits

by PetrichorPerfume



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Catharsis, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Gen, Kink Meme, M/M, Non-Sexual Castiel/Dean Winchester, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Spanking, Supernatural Kink Meme, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: Based on the Kink Meme Prompt:"Sometimes, what Dean needs is a good, hard spanking. It’s not really sexual. It’s just the emotional release thing. Mostly. It is also something that Castiel is willing to provide to Dean on a regular basis. He always knows exactly what Dean needs. Dean sometimes wonders what Castiel gets out of it, but isn’t going to look that gift horse in the mouth.The spanking could be sexually charged (naked ass, over the knee, maybe even Dean orgasms), but they do not have any other form of sex ever or talk about it. Very definitely Castiel does that thing where he shuts up about it."
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Steady in Their Orbits

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: [ Link to Original Request.](https://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/167736.html?thread=48347960#t48347960)
> 
> Note 2: Please enjoy the juxtaposition of the rather literary title with the fact that this is basically just quick, shameless fic.
> 
> Note 3: I am basically entirely out of ideas and energy so I troll the kink meme looking for other people's ideas/needs/wants/requests. (Hint hint ahem comment what you'd like to see me write next.)
> 
> Note 4: I actually wrote this last year, but I waited to post it in the hopes that someone else would fill it better than I, but alas, no knight with a shining pen arrived so it was left to me and my humble keyboard to fill the void. 
> 
> Note 5: I promise this is the last one. On a personal note, it's been a wild year. It's been a year and a day since life stopped for me due to global circumstances beyond my control. A year since I was last at uni. A year since I last saw my friends. I love my neighbors dearly but I tire of seeing them at the exclusion of the millions of other people we share this city with. Please don't tell them I said that. On a happier note, I am (finally) graduating uni this spring!

It’s not something they talk about; not really.

Dean sometimes thinks that Cas is on the verge of saying something about it. He’ll get an intense look in his eyes, and his lips will move, but nothing comes out, and in the end, they reach a silent agreement on the arrangement.

There is trust, there; a sort of brokered peace between them that feels like it should but fragile, but isn’t. Dean trusts Castiel implicitly; trusts that he will never go too far or take advantage of what occurs between them behind closed doors. He trusts Castiel not to speak of it, and he trusts the angel enough that when Castiel wraps a hand around his wrist the moment Sam is gone from the Bunker, he surrenders without protest to what he knows is coming next.

Castiel leads him, hand on the small of his back, to one of the spare bedrooms. It’s the same bedroom they always use for this purpose, and Dean had become accustomed to associating these particular surroundings with everything that is about to happen.

“Inside,” Castiel orders, no particular intonation to his voice. Dean can’t fathom what the angel gets out of this, but he doesn’t allow himself to examine that thought too closely.

The other sits on the edge of the bed, patient. There is no particular rush, here, so Dean takes his time with his belt, slipping it off his waist before folding it upon itself and placing it on the counter.

He is quicker with the pants; eager, almost, but when he stands before Castiel in his boxers, the angel looks unimpressed. “Go on,” Castiel says, casting his gaze to Dean’s boxers, his voice gentler than Dean had been expecting.

Dean obeys, slipping off his underthings and placing them on the counter with his folded jeans. He waits for Castiel to nod his approval – and Castiel waits a small eternity before he smiles and beckons Dean over. The anticipation is part of what Dean loves about this, the buildup to a type of catharsis that only Castiel can provide.

Cas helps him settle down upon his knee, and slowly, patiently, hikes Dean’s shirt up just enough to gain better access to the other’s backside, then rests his hand on Dean’s lower back.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Castiel intones, voice kind.

Dean swallows hard, tries to steady his breathing and reconcile the conflicting emotions within him. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, and when he does, he lets out a shaky breath and replies, “Ready.”

The first smack comes as a surprise. It’s gentle, almost teasing, but it still makes him jump. One of Castiel’s hands is still resting on his back, and Dean imagines the other hovering, ready to strike.

The next few come in quick succession, and Dean’s breathing grows uneven. His thoughts scatter, but that is only to be expected. Right now, it is just him and Castiel, him sharing a certain sort of vulnerability that he has never shown anyone else; Castiel sitting, patient, steady as ever, hands warm and firm.

About ten strikes in, Dean starts to smart, and a particularly hard smack sends every thought and worry that had been plaguing him running. There is a certain freedom in this, Dean contemplates, but he loses track of even that thought as the smacks keep coming, some light, some harder; all in varying cadence and rhythm. It’s unpredictable, and Dean never knows where or when the next strike is going to fall, but he is alright with that.

He loses track of time, and becomes aware of a subtler sensation making itself known amongst the pain – Castiel’s hand upon his back is tracing small circles. He notices that around the same time he notices the wetness on his lashes. His tears are falling freely, now, and everything feels too big and too bright but he feels absolved, and he is grounded by the solid presence of Castiel above him.

Some time later, the blows stop. Dean makes a wordless protest, but his throat is too dry to say much of anything coherent.

“Shh,” Castiel soothes him. Both hands, now, are occupied with rubbing his back, avoiding the newly tender flesh of his backside.

Dean lets himself float for a while, the conflicting sensations of stinging pain and soft fingers slowly reconciling themselves in his mind.

All too soon, Castiel is helping him sit up, and pressing water to his lips.

Dean drinks, and while his eyes are closed, Castiel wipes his face with a damp cloth. Any other time, he would protest, but he cannot trust himself to speak so he just curls into a ball in the warm spot where Castiel had been.

The other begins to card gentle fingers through his hair. Dean realizes distantly that he is still crying. An Enochian lullaby sounds close to his ear, and Dean feels the angel’s body wrap around his own. A wing settles upon him, and Dean cannot help but smile.

The tears taper off. Dean feels himself drifting in and out of a dreamless sleep.

When he awakens fully, Dean finds himself covered with a soft blanket, and for one long moment, he fears he is alone.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel’s voice sounds behind him.

Dean doesn’t startle; doesn’t even turn around; just sinks back into the nest of pillows and blankets and smiles. “Hey, Cas,” he answers, feeling light and unburdened, as if he had just shrugged off the last vestiges of a long-held burden.

It’s not something they talk about, not really. But they understand each other nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos or a quick comment if you enjoyed this fic!


End file.
